


The Pierian Spring

by MaryRoyale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fae & Fairies, Hermione Smut Submission round seven, Hermione Smut livejournal, Spells & Enchantments, Wingfic, creature!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7264915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryRoyale/pseuds/MaryRoyale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During her research Hermione comes across a spell she believes will be useful, but everything doesn’t work out exactly as she had planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pierian Spring

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really want to thank Auntie_L who is beyond amazing. She let me bounce ideas off of her, she kept me on the right track, and she’s been doing her best to help with my comma problem. It’s not an addiction. I can quit anytime I want.
> 
> No copyright infringement is intended. JK Rowling owns everything. I own nothing.

_Ministry of Magic  
January 12, 2003_  
  
“Good morning Miss Granger,” Cormac McLaggen said with his usual wide, bright smile. “Can you give me an update on Madame Marchbanks’ enquiry?”  
  
“I’m still working on it McLaggen,” Hermione replied tartly, “translating Fae isn’t exactly easy.”  
  
“I know that and you know that, but Madame Marchbanks doesn’t like being told no,” Cormac said with a small chuckle. He peered about the Wizengamot Library’s offices where the Researchers worked, and then leaned toward her. “I’m just grateful that you chose to become a Researcher here. Many of the Researchers get impatient with Griselda because she’s so detail-oriented. In fact, she told me just this morning that she was glad that the Library finally had someone competent.”   
  
After a few more minutes of small talk and McLaggen calling a cheerful hello to Lisa Turpin, the Researcher that shared Hermione’s office, he left to go report to Madame Marchbanks. Hermione snorted in amusement as she watched his broad shoulders retreat as he strode purposefully down the hall. Both McLaggen and Madame Marchbanks were lucky because Hermione hadn’t planned on becoming a Researcher at the Wizengamot Library. In fact, she hadn’t even known there _was_ a Wizengamot Library.   
  
_The plan had been simple: graduate from Hogwarts, gain an internship in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, do some good in the world. However, as several people have noted throughout history—plans can change. A mandatory orientation for all potential interns meant that Hermione spent an entire week attending classes designed to give her a crash course in the Ministry of Magic and its complicated departments and their relationships to one another. Unlike many of the applicants, Hermione had read several thick, imposing tomes all about the Ministry after that nasty conversation with Scrimgeour at Harry’s seventeenth birthday party; she had been worried about what Scrimgeour could legally get away with doing to Harry and wanted to be prepared for the worst. Perhaps because of the particular focus of Hermione’s concerns and the books she had chosen she had missed an important fact.  
  
“As we have discussed previously the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is comprised of several smaller departments or offices,” the facilitator droned on and Hermione struggled to stay awake and focused. “The Wizengamot, while not a department per se, is still listed under the DMLE along with its Library.” The facilitator paused when Hermione jerked in her seat. He stared at her wildly waving hand and then motioned toward her. “You have a question Miss Granger?”  
  
“Yes, sir. What library, sir?” Hermione asked.   
  
The facilitator appeared nonplussed. “Why, the Wizengamot Library of course,” he replied. He paused and then frowned for a moment. “I believe the Muggle government has a Lords Library and a House of Commons Library. The concept is similar, but of course the Wizengamot Library was founded in 1064.”  
  
The library at Hogwarts could be fitted into one small corner of the Wizengamot Library and be completely lost. It reminded Hermione vaguely of the library at Trinity in Dublin. Her heart began to race and her palms grew moist with excitement. Her breathing was slightly erratic as she followed dutifully behind the Ministry tour guide. She noticed that the library was rather sparsely populated. In fact, the only wizards and witches that she could see were wearing imposing, navy-coloured robes and appeared to be moving among the shelves with particular purpose. No one was browsing. No one was curled up in a chair flipping through a musty tome. Everyone she saw had on special gloves and handled the books carefully.   
  
“Who are they?” Hermione whispered to the tour guide.   
  
He glanced at the industrious group at a nearby table and turned back to Hermione. “Library Researchers. The books do not leave the library. Members of the Wizengamot are allowed to book reading rooms so that they may read books or scrolls at their convenience. Or, if they have a specific question they can submit an enquiry and our Researchers will gather information for them.”  
  
“I see,” Hermione murmured in a thoughtful voice. “How does one become a Researcher?”_  
  
  
Five years later, Hermione was an official Wizengamot Library Researcher and she spent all day, every day surrounded by the most rare, the most esoteric and the most obscure volumes and manuscripts in the wizarding world. Some days, she still couldn’t believe her luck. Just think... if she had never heard of the Wizengamot Library, she would have ended up in the DRCMC or the DMLE. She shivered at the thought and focused her attention back on her work. Her current project involved a treaty with the Fairies that was under scrutiny by both the Wizengamot and the Seelie Court. Madame Marchbanks, member of the Wizengamot, had requested that Hermione research the history behind the treaty itself and also the joint councils that had created the treaty. Madame Marchbanks’ assistant Cormac McLaggen came by to check on the progress at least once a day, and this was obviously today’s visit.   
  
“I think he is interested in you,” Lisa Turpin commented as she handed Hermione a cup of tea.   
Hermione made a ‘tcha’ noise and took a sip of her tea. “McLaggen does _not_ want me. Trust me: if he did I would know.”  
  
“He did back in school,” Lisa pointed out.   
  
School wasn’t so far into the distant past that Hermione couldn’t recall the way McLaggen had behaved back at Hogwarts. When he strode into the Library on her first day as an intern she had been worried that he would attempt to pick up where he had left off; instead the opposite had occurred—he had been polite, but completely professional during the entire exchange with the Researcher that had mentored her. At the time she had been surprised and grateful that McLaggen behaved himself.   
  
“True, but he’s never treated me with anything other than respect and courtesy here at the Ministry of Magic,” Hermione retorted.   
  
Lisa snickered behind her hand. “I’m sorry Hermione I don’t mean to laugh, but do you realize what you’ve just said? McLaggen was what… seventeen when he was pursuing you at Hogwarts? He’s twenty-five years old. Don’t you think it’s even remotely possible that he might have grown up in the last eight years?”  
  
“Well, yes but—”Hermione began only to have Lisa raise a hand.   
  
“Please, let me finish. In addition to the fact that McLaggen is no longer a randy teenager there is the fact that this is his job just as much as it is yours. You don’t expect the man to attempt fondling you in the middle of the Ministry of Magic, do you?” Lisa gave Hermione a pointed look and took a sip of her tea.   
  
“I suppose not,” Hermione agreed.   
  
“Honestly, I can’t imagine why you’re so dead set against the idea. I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of _my_ bed,” Lisa muttered before she headed over to her own desk.   
  
A light flush turned Hermione’s cheeks pink and she avoided looking at Lisa’s half of the room until she was able to get herself under control. The fact that Cormac McLaggen was tall, broad-shouldered and incredibly fit had not escaped Hermione’s notice. The fact that he had golden curls that she sometimes daydreamed about burying her fingers in was beside the point. His rugged handsomeness that vaguely reminded Hermione of the outdoors and his bright, cheerful smile that always made an answering smile curve Hermione’s lips were also beside the point.   
At Hogwarts McLaggen’s over-the-top behaviour had repulsed her and she had gotten to the point where he didn’t even appear handsome to her any longer. In the hallowed halls of the Wizengamot Library he was one of the few people she saw on a regular basis aside from her fellow Researchers, and she admitted to herself that she had begun to look forward to his daily visits. Now that he wasn’t conducting an all-out offensive on her person she was able to see Cormac McLaggen for himself and she was willing to admit privately that she rather liked the grown-up, mature McLaggen.  
  
In the years since his graduation McLaggen _had_ grown and matured. Once or twice Lisa had invited him to stay for tea in the Researcher’s Lounge and he always spoke intelligently about whatever the topic happened to be. If it was obscurely esoteric as some of their research was wont to be, he would laugh and raise his hands in defeat and say that he knew absolutely nothing on the subject; Hermione liked that in a person. Too many times the Researchers with whom she worked professed knowledge of a subject with which they were unacquainted merely to gain cachet with a particular Member of the Wizengamot. McLaggen’s blunt honesty was refreshing and in direct contrast to the way many of her co-workers behaved. Although she had to admit that because McLaggen was not a researcher he might not feel the same drive to prove himself.   
  
“It doesn’t really matter,” Hermione announced at lunch in the MoM cafeteria.   
  
“What doesn’t matter?” Lisa asked cautiously.   
  
“You know—whether or not McLaggen is interested in me. It doesn’t matter,” Hermione explained.   
  
Lisa sat there and stared at Hermione for several long minutes. Finally she put her fork back into her curry and leaned toward the Muggle-born witch that she considered a friend. “Are you insane?”  
  
Hermione glared at her. “No, I am not.”  
  
“Then why on earth would you say something like that?” Lisa demanded. “A totally scrummy wizard is probably into you. Probably sits at home of a night thinking deliciously wicked thoughts about your person and—”  
  
“Stop!” Hermione squeaked indignantly her cheeks flushed a brilliant red.   
  
“Why doesn’t it matter?” Lisa spoke in clipped tones and fixed a firm glare on Hermione.  
  
“Never mind,” Hermione grumbled.   
  
“You’re the one who brought it up,” Lisa muttered and went back to her curry.   
  
The reason that it really didn’t matter was that Hermione didn’t really do relationships because she was utter rubbish at them. When Hermione’s relationship with Ron had crumpled like a badly beaten soufflé no one had said anything to either of them. By that time it had been pretty obvious that they just weren’t meant to be… they didn’t fit together.   
  
Hermione had attempted a small string of boyfriends, but their schedules and careers seemed to conspire against them. Hermione stopped being surprised when the third boyfriend, Terry Boot, had said that ‘it just wasn’t working out;’ after that Hermione stopped trying to date anyone. So really there was no point in Hermione worrying about whether or not Cormac McLaggen was interested in her even if her heart would beat a little faster whenever he entered the room, or if her breathing hitched whenever he leaned over her shoulder to look at her work.   
  
Later that afternoon found Hermione up to her armpits in research. She was in the middle of an ancient Fae manuscript and she was concentrating on translating as accurately as possible. Her Sidhe wasn’t that good—tolerable at best—and this translation was vitally important to Madame Marchbanks’ work. This particular manuscript was frustrating because it appeared to not only include information about the first Sidhe-Wizarding treaties which dated from the fifth century, but also some important information about Sidhe culture and customs. Hermione wished that she understood what it said, but her Sidhe was failing her. She turned the page of the manuscript carefully and peered at the next page.   
  
“That’s odd,” she murmured.   
  
“What’s odd?” Lisa asked absently from her desk. She was in the middle of her own research and was frowning down at a clay tablet.   
  
“There’s an entry here in a completely different hand. It… it appears to be… huh,” Hermione squinted at the text as though it might help her make more sense of it.   
  
“It appears to be what?” Lisa looked up from her tablets.   
  
Hermione waved a hand at her and gave her a weak smile. “Sorry. It’s nothing. I think I’ve been at this too long. I’m going to go put the kettle on. Do you want anything?”   
  
“Can you get me a packet of Jammy Dodgers?” Lisa asked hopefully.   
  
“Will do,” Hermione said with a nod and walked out of the office.   
  
A cup of tea and a packet of biscuits later and Hermione still couldn’t credit what she was looking at. This section of the manuscript was in Latin, which Hermione could read easily and she almost sighed audibly in relief. Sidhe was inexorably difficult to translate and this was a welcome break. The strange text appeared to be a spell of some kind. It wasn’t overly clear in the brief introduction, but Hermione gathered that it was some sort of translation spell. There was a careful note in the hand of the rest of the manuscript thanking someone named Perinor for the kind gift of the spell, but then the scribe went on to say that the spell would help the caster _truly understand_ the Sidhe. That made Hermione pause and make her own small notation in her rough notes. A spell like that could be incredibly useful.  
  
The Wizengamot Library was well-organized and Hermione was able to find information on ‘Perinor’ easily and quickly. According to the historical reference books Perinor had been a member of the Seelie Court who had provided invaluable help to the wizards of Britain during the collapse of the Roman Empire. All references to him described him as an elf of the Light or as a Fae of the Seelie Court. That meant more researching which took Hermione deep into Celtic myth. She wanted to scoff. Oh how she wished she could turn up her nose and denounce this as drivel. However, her experiences with the Deathly Hallows had taught her that even children’s books and, yes, _fairy tales_ might have something important to say. Everything seemed to point to Perinor being a magical being who did not practice the Dark Arts which indicated that his spell—if it worked—would almost certainly be a Light spell and incredibly beneficial. With the concern of whether or not there might be a Dark spell hidden in the manuscript neatly alleviated Hermione sat back in her chair and sucked thoughtfully on her quill.  
  
Learning a new language with magic was a tricky thing; there were several spells for such things, but they all lacked a fundamental aspect—one could learn a language and even gain technical proficiency in it with the aid of a spell, but often the recipient lacked understanding of the culture and its colloquialisms. Hermione had done the best she could with the language spells at the Wizengamot Library’s disposal, and that was a fair few because the Library held a great number of spells that most of wizarding Britain had forgotten or didn’t even know existed in the first place. All of those factors made the Sidhe spell very, very tempting to Hermione. With only a tiny pang of uneasiness Hermione pulled out a clean, fresh sheet of parchment and carefully copied the spell in its entirety. While the books themselves could not leave the confines of the Library there were no actual rules against copying texts.  
  
Careful study of the spell revealed that the brewing of the potion in question was fairly easy, but the ingredients were difficult to acquire. It took Hermione a week of delicate inquiries to obtain everything on the list, but she didn’t mind the time because the current treaty negotiations practically guaranteed that she would need fluency in Fae for at least the next year or two, if not longer. Once everything was assembled Hermione followed the instructions assiduously. The spell seemed to be composed of several parts, but the pivotal piece seemed to be a potion. Most potions did not effect a permanent change in the witch or wizard who took them, but a few did. Potions like Skele-Gro would be useless if one had to constantly regrow one’s bones.   
Finally, everything was complete. The potion seemed to shimmer slightly and it appeared to shift between pale lavender to a delicate leaf green to a light blue. It was the nicest-looking potion she’d ever seen save for Harry’s golden Felix Felicis. Her wand trembled slightly as she raised her hand and sketched the proper sigils in the air.   
  
“Kyr. Cer. Per. Wyr.” She enunciated carefully and drew each sigil painstakingly. When she was finished she uncorked the bottle and drank the potion down to the last drop.   
  
A strange prickling, tingling sensation spread from Hermione’s throat to the rest of her body. She blinked in surprise and then stared in genuine awe as her skin began to glow. _Perhaps I did something wrong._ She made to move toward her notes, but her body refused to respond. The glowing increased until the brightness made her eyes water. She closed her eyes, but even then she could still see the glow of her skin through her eyelids. Panic flooded her and Hermione cried out helplessly as the prickling, tingling sensation increased.   
  
Fainting would have been a blessing, but for whatever reason Hermione was completely conscious for the entire process. Pain flared in her back and she could feel her skin splitting and _something_ bursting forth from her body. Another cry of pain and fear escaped her lips as her body involuntarily shook with the changes occurring within it. Eventually Hermione lay on the floor panting with exertion and praying fervently that it would be over soon. It took her several minutes to realize that whatever was happening seemed to have stopped. She gasped for air and struggled to pull herself into a sitting position.   
  
The glowing had stopped for which Hermione was grateful. She grabbed a tissue and began to dab at her watering eyes. Once she could see clearly she examined her skin carefully. There seemed to be a subtle glow to her skin, but nothing as dramatic as what had just happened. If Hermione hadn’t known any better she would suggest it was merely the glow of good health. She grabbed at the coffee table and attempted to pull herself upright. She stumbled a little and had a brief moment of disorientation when she tried to right herself. Panic was back in full force when she felt that _something_ brushing against her back and her hair.   
  
Feeling a sense of gratitude to Ginny for insisting that she have a full-length mirror in her bedroom, Hermione hurried to her room for a better look at her back. The moment she caught sight of herself in the mirror she froze in surprise. Peeking out from the wild tangle of curls that hung about her face were two sharp points.   
  
“Merlin’s pants!”  
  
Carefully she pulled her hair back and stared in shock at her transformed ears. Instead of the human ears that she was accustomed to she now had ears that curved slightly and ended in dramatic points. With one trembling finger she carefully traced her ear from the shell to the point. Pleasure flooded her senses and her belly tightened. She blinked in surprise and repeated the motion; her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed. She snatched her hand away and stared at her ears.   
  
Hermione turned about slightly to get a better look at her back. “Bloody hell,” she muttered under her breath.   
  
Delicate wings fluttered between her shoulder blades.  
  
“You have got to be kidding me.”  
  
The fairy wings fluttered in silent defiance.   
  
/\/\/\  
  
Lately, people whom Hermione had known for years seemed to stumble over themselves in her presence. Draco Malfoy, of all people, had been struck dumb when he first caught sight of her after her transformation. Neville had tripped and fallen at her feet. Even Blaise Zabini, who had always struck Hermione as cool and collected, stuttered when he attempted to speak to her. Harry had blushed a brilliant red and couldn’t look her in the eye.   
  
Even with a glamour that disguised her most obvious attributes Hermione was relentlessly pursued by unattached wizards and even some witches. Hermione stared at herself in the mirror for an hour, but she couldn’t see what the difference was. Okay, so maybe her cheekbones looked a bit more dramatic. Maybe, just _maybe_ mind you, her eyes looked slightly more exotic: they were larger, almond-shaped and the colour was now more golden than brown. What was she to do now? It took all of her self-control to avoid going back to the mirror to stare at her pointed ears and the fluttering wings between her shoulder blades, which she usually tried to hide. _Truly understand the Fae my arse._ Now she bloody well _was_ Fae. There was no way to reverse this sort of transformation; for good or ill she was stuck as Sidhe.  
  
 _Humans are susceptible to your Fae magic._ Hermione snorted to herself. That had been the understatement of the century. The representative from the Seelie Court had tried to prepare Hermione, but nothing could have helped her understand the wizarding world’s response to her transformation. Wizards and witches alike attempted to catch her eye and court her. She had received so many flowers, chocolates, jewels, and offers that she had had to make her address unlisted to Owl Post. It was utterly ridiculous and it felt completely fake. None of them wanted _her_ they wanted what she represented. They wanted the pretty face that her change had granted her; they wanted the power and prestige of allying themselves with the Seelie Court. In fact, the only person who hadn’t been reduced to a drooling bag of hormones had been Cormac McLaggen.   
  
_“Finally! You are a difficult woman to track down these days Miss Granger,” Cormac announced cheerfully from her office doorway.  
  
The muscles in Hermione’s shoulders automatically tensed.   
  
“She is,” Lisa agreed cheerfully from her desk. “It keeps the riff-raff away. What do you want McLaggen?”  
  
“It isn’t what I want,” he retorted with a cheeky grin for Lisa. “It’s what Madame Marchbanks wants.” He turned back to Hermione and gave her a hopeful look complete with puppy eyes. “Please tell me you’ve got something for her. Otherwise I might as well ask for a transfer to Antarctica.”  
  
“I do,” Hermione replied and began shuffling files looking for the one she was working on for Madame Marchbanks. “Here it is.”  
  
“Thanks, you are a lifesaver,” Cormac said with another bright smile. He took the folder, gave a small wave to both Hermione and Lisa, turned and left Hermione’s office.   
  
“Well that was a nice change,” Lisa said with a loud relieved sigh. “Lately anything on two legs that fancies skirts trots after you like a lost puppy. It’s so nice to _not _have to deal with that.”  
  
“It was, wasn’t it,” Hermione murmured thoughtfully and stared at her door. _  
  
Over the next few days and weeks, the sense of strangeness only increased in Hermione’s life. Every bouquet from a near-stranger, every box of chocolate from some acquaintance from school, every highly inappropriate piece of jewellery unnerved the hell out of her. All of her fellow Researchers appreciated all of the free candy that Hermione and Lisa dumped in the lounge. Hermione began hiding in the Wizengamot Library because it was less creepy than being accosted while walking through the ministry.   
  
The Wizengamot Library never truly closed because individual Researchers were allowed access at all hours for their research. Hermione had been working erratic hours lately to better escape her deranged admirers. The click of her heels as she walked down the hall echoed slightly only reinforcing the empty feeling the library had at this time of day. It meant that she was seeing a great deal less of McLaggen than normal, which left her feeling oddly empty and off-kilter. She stopped in the hall outside her office and blinked in surprise. _I miss him. I miss Cormac McLaggen._ Somehow, some way, her fellow Gryffindor had snuck into her heart without her ever realizing it. _Only I could have the amazing talent to fall in love with the one wizard in wizarding Britain who doesn’t seem to want me._ Hermione was stunned by her mini-epiphany and it took a moment for her to hear the voices drifting from her office.   
  
“I don’t know why you don’t just tell her how you feel.” Lisa was telling someone.   
  
A loud snort answered her. “Right, just like all the other depraved nutters who practically assault her on a daily basis.” Cormac McLaggen said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.  
  
“You are not a depraved nutter,” Lisa retorted. “You haven’t been like any of the rest of them.” Lisa paused for a moment. “In fact, why _haven’t_ you been like the rest of them? How do you manage to not drool all over her and act like a general arse?”  
  
Hermione held her breath and listened with all her might. Her heart was racing so madly that she worried about whether or not McLaggen… _Cormac_ … could hear it.   
  
“I tried that in school. It didn’t work terribly well back then, and it doesn’t seem to work for any of the hopefuls now,” Cormac snapped.   
  
“You didn’t even trip or stumble when you saw her though,” Lisa protested. “Even Potter—her best friend in the world—blushed like a schoolboy and couldn’t look at her.”  
  
There was a heavy silence from her office and Hermione wasn’t sure she could bear it. She shifted slightly with the intent of running away and nursing her wounded heart with a big bottle of Firewhiskey, but Cormac’s voice stopped her.   
  
“The night of the Yule Ball,” Cormac said finally. There was something thick and raw in his voice that made something in Hermione sit up and take notice. “She walked in on Viktor Krum’s arm and I tripped over my own feet and fell into a column—missed the first dance because Madame Pomfrey had to mend it. Every time I see her she just gets more beautiful. Even when she was covered in dirt and blood and gore she was the most incredible-looking woman in the world.”  
  
He wanted her—Hermione Granger—not the glamour or the cachet of having a Fae lover. Without even realizing it her feet carried her into her office. Cormac and Lisa jumped and turned to her with guilty expressions. A dull flush crept up Cormac’s neck and spread over his cheeks until he was bright red.   
  
“It would probably be too much to hope that you didn’t hear that,” Cormac mumbled.   
  
“I heard it,” Hermione replied. She stared at Cormac as though she were seeing him for the first time.   
  
“I’ll just be leaving now,” Lisa squeaked and fled from the office.   
  
Hermione ignored her.   
  
Fae vision could pick up so much more than her weak, human eyes: the thick curls of Cormac’s hair as it waved back from his forehead; the soft moss of his green eyes that was so unlike Harry’s as to be a different colour altogether; the fullness of his lips and the strong line of his jaw, which all blended together into an extremely handsome man. Maturity had wiped the haughtiness from his face and smoothed out the arrogant quirk of his lips. Gone was the brash braggart of her childhood. In his place was a man who she found infinitely more fascinating. This man ducked his head in embarrassment and hunched his shoulders in a defensive gesture.   
  
“I’ll just leave,” he muttered.   
  
“Did you mean it?” Hermione blurted out. Her heart hammered in her chest and she dared to hope that he had meant every word.  
  
Cormac froze and stared at her. “I… what?”  
  
“Did you mean it? What you said,” Hermione asked.   
  
The blush grew even darker. “Yes.” It was almost a whisper, but her sharp ears caught it.   
The silence grew thick between them until it was a tangible thing that hung in the room; it shattered when Hermione shook her head and laughed ruefully. The laughter choked in her throat and died on her tongue when she caught sight of Cormac’s face. He appeared utterly shattered and heartbroken. Hermione took a step forward and he held out a hand in another defensive gesture. She persisted and her fingers caught at the sleeve of his robe. She wound her fingers in the fabric afraid that he might take flight before she could speak.   
  
“They were wrong,” she said at last.   
  
Cormac’s Adam’s apple moved several times as he swallowed. “Who?” His voice was hoarse as though he were trying to hold back tears.   
  
“Everyone.” Hermione’s lips twisted in another rueful smile. “The smartest witch of her age. If I had a knut for every time someone’s flung that at me…”  
  
“You _are_ the smartest witch of your age,” Cormac countered with a mulish cast to his face.   
  
Hermione moved tentatively closer and touched his jaw with just the tips of her fingers. She shook her head at him. “No. I’m not.”  
  
Cormac froze and his eyes widened. He stared at her for several long minutes. “Hermione.” It was both a plea and a prayer.  
  
“There you were this whole time,” she whispered and her fingers slid over the stubble on his jaw to cup his cheek, “and I never realized until I had to hide from everyone just how much I missed seeing you every day.”  
  
“You did?” Cormac seemed startled.   
  
“Very much,” Hermione whispered and she realized that now it was her voice that sounded thick and raw with emotion.  
  
Moss green eyes watched her with an expression of wonder, but Cormac seemed unable to move. It was as though he were afraid that he was dreaming—that if he moved in any way he would awaken and find out that none of this was happening. Hermione made an impatient little huff and grabbed Cormac’s robes pulling him down so that she could kiss him. It wasn’t until her teeth caught his lower lip in a firm nip that he responded. His arms went around her and pulled her tight against him. He kissed her back with a ferocity that made her toes curl. No one had ever kissed her like this—as though it were the most important thing that they could be doing. Cormac’s fingers trailed over her arms reverently, but his lips and tongue and teeth plundered her mouth with passionate avarice. When Hermione moved to break the kiss he made a sad, lost noise in his throat. She held his face in her hands not allowing him the chance to doubt what was happening.   
  
“Perhaps we should take this somewhere slightly less public,” she suggested.   
  
Cormac’s lips quirked in a smile and then a wry laugh escaped his lips. “Your place or mine?” He said finally with a little roll of his eyes.   
  
A snicker slipped free from Hermione. “That was my fault,” she said when she was able.   
  
“Yes it was,” Cormac agreed. A golden brow arched at her and he watched her carefully. “Well?”  
  
“My place I think,” Hermione decided.   
  
They stumbled through the Floo and tripped over one another on their way to Hermione’s bedroom. Cormac tried to catch himself on her doorjamb and ended up falling on her floor with Hermione landing on top of him with a soft ‘oof’ of surprise.   
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Cormac rushed to reassure her. He blinked up at her and then frowned slightly. “You wear a glamour don’t you?” He asked finally.   
  
She nodded. “It just seemed easier. The representative from the Seelie Court recommended it.”  
  
“Can I see?” His voice was shy and hesitant, which only reinforced how very different this Cormac was from the boy she’d known in school.  
  
Bringing Cormac to her home, to her bedroom, had been done with a specific goal in mind namely shagging him to within an inch of his life; ostensibly that required the nudity of both parties, and Hermione had been completely fine with the concept. This though—showing Cormac the parts of her that she hid from everyone else—felt so much more intimate and made her feel even more vulnerable than the idea of stripping naked in front of him. She froze above him and he apparently took that as a refusal. He flushed again.   
  
“I beg your pardon,” he rushed to say. “That was… never mind.”  
  
“No, it’s okay,” she insisted. She stood up carefully and moved away from him.   
  
There were a great number of things that she could do now without the support of a wand. The representative from the Seelie Court had explained that Fae magic operated differently, and it had taken Hermione some time to adjust to the changes. Her fingers unbuttoned her navy-blue Researcher’s robes efficiently and she turned to hang up her robes in her closet. She heard a choked sound of surprise from Cormac when he saw that she was wearing a backless gown under her robes. For comfort and safety she always put away her wings when she left the house, but the skin between her shoulder blades was still sensitive and tender; wearing backless gowns prevented skin irritation, which the representative from the Seelie Court had explained was important.   
  
Standing in front of her closet with her back to Cormac she released the glamour that she wore whenever she left her house. With a thought her wings snapped free and fluttered comfortingly as they brushed the bare skin of her back. Cormac gasped at the display. She turned around slowly and peeked at Cormac through her lashes. He stood and moved toward her cautiously. He paused a couple feet away from her. His eyes were fixed on her ears and a small smile tugged at his lips.   
“Still the most beautiful witch in the world,” he informed her.   
  
“I’m not exactly a witch anymore,” she pointed out.   
  
His eyes travelled back to her ears. “Witch plus,” he suggested with another small smile. He raised one hand slowly and then paused while his eyes sought out hers. “May I?”  
  
Hermione swallowed audibly and her heart beat a little faster. “Just… be gentle. They’re, um, sensitive.”  
  
One callused fingertip carefully traced the sharply curved shell of her ear. Sensations flooded Hermione and she shivered involuntarily. Heat pooled in her belly and her knees felt weak. Cormac explored the delicate skin slowly and took his time. There suddenly wasn’t enough air in her lungs and she found herself making panting little gasps for air. Cormac’s golden-blond eyebrows rose in surprise.  
  
“You weren’t kidding were you?” Cormac murmured half to himself.   
  
“No,” Hermione agreed.   
  
Then he cupped her face in his large hands and kissed her again. He licked inside her mouth in teasing little nips that had her panting with want and need. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her kisses and soon he was plundering the inside of her mouth again. Those large hands slid down her neck and over her shoulders dragging the straps of her dress down. Hermione wound her arms around Cormac’s back and pulled him closer. The feel of his robes against her bare skin felt naughty and decadent and she grinned against his mouth.   
  
“What?” He asked with an adorable furrow between his brows.  
  
“I think that you’re wearing far too many clothes,” she informed him and then grinned at his outraged squawk.   
  
“How did you do that?” he demanded gesturing toward his suddenly naked body.   
  
Her grin shifted to a smirk. “Fae magic,” she said smugly.   
  
One glance at Cormac made her smirk falter and then slip off of her face completely. He had been a well-muscled, fit, young man in school and he had obviously worked hard to keep his physique. Broad shoulders slid down to firm pectoral muscles and the sharply delineated ridges of his abdomen. Thickly muscled thighs and well-formed calves completed the image. Hermione’s eyes went to his groin of their own accord. Her mouth went dry and she bit her lip.   
  
“Do I pass muster?” Cormac’s voice was about an octave deeper than normal and rubbed Hermione’s senses in all the right ways.   
  
“Definitely,” she murmured without thinking. She blushed when she realized what she’d said.   
  
Cormac took her hand and dragged her to the bed. He glanced uncertainly at her wings and then crawled onto her bed and lay on his back. He put one arm under his head and then looked at her with one arched brow.   
  
“Well?”   
  
She straddled his hips with his half-hard cock nestled against her bum and her hands spread over his chest. She leaned forward to kiss his jaw and felt him tentatively lick the curve of her ear. She moaned against the skin of his jaw and his stubble prickled against her lips. His fingers bit into the curve of her hips, keeping her in place, as he gently mouthed her earlobe. His teeth nipped gently and he licked the spot to soothe it.  
  
All thought fled from her mind and she let them go willingly revelling in the feelings that Cormac was evoking within her. There was only the brush of his callused fingertips on her breasts, the velvet softness of his lips and tongue as they laved her nipples, the puffs of his breath against her goose-pimpled skin. Her fingers buried themselves in his thick curls and she held on as he teased and tormented her body with pleasure.   
  
The skin of Cormac’s collarbone against Hermione’s tongue was salty and she shifted in his lap so that she could nibble on his neck. He groaned under her ministrations and his fingers flexed on her bum. When Hermione pulled back to look up at him Cormac’s pupils were blown wide with lust and he was watching her. Hermione shifted again and Cormac’s breathing hitched; his cock pressed against her insistently.   
  
Carefully Hermione placed her hands on his shoulders and knelt over Cormac. With one hand she reached for him. Cormac hissed when her fingers wrapped around the thick length of him and he groaned helplessly as she slid down, taking him in inch by inch.   
  
“Feel so good,” he mumbled into her hair his breath warm on her ear.   
  
“Nrng,” Hermione replied breathlessly.   
  
“All right, love?” His voice was a deep rumble against her cheek.   
  
In answer she rolled her hips in a little swivel that made Cormac’s eyes roll back in his head. Hermione’s nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders and he gripped her hips as he thrust up into her. Soft pants and breathy moans filled the room.   
  
“Dreamed of this,” he gasped against her skin. He cupped the back of her head in one hand and kissed the corner of her mouth.   
  
“Me too,” Hermione admitted shyly.   
  
Cormac froze beneath her and stared up at her with heated eyes. He eyed her carefully and licked his lips. “If I flip you on your back will it hurt your wings?”  
  
“Hang on,” Hermione replied.   
  
She concentrated for a moment on her wings, which was difficult to do with Cormac deep inside her, but she felt her wings quiver and then slip back in. Gravity tipped over on itself as Cormac quickly flipped her over and thrust deeply into her in one fluid move. His eyes were gentle and warm as he watched her reaction.   
  
“Okay?”   
  
“More than,” she managed to gasp. She wiggled experimentally against him and he groaned helplessly.   
  
“Naughty witch,” he accused playfully.   
  
“Wicked fairy,” she corrected him with a smug little smile.   
  
In retaliation, Cormac rolled his hips. Pleasure shot through Hermione and her breathing hitched. Every flex of Cormac’s hips had her seeing stars and soon Hermione was a moaning, writhing, quivering mess beneath him. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase on Cormac’s back and the muscles bunched and moved beneath her hands as he continued to pound into her. She knew words—some really amazing multi-syllabic words—but at the moment she couldn’t remember any of them. Incoherent babbling flowed from her lips as Cormac kept taking her higher and higher.   
  
“Please,” she moaned. It was the only word she could remember.   
  
“I’ve got you, love,” he murmured.   
  
When her orgasm hit her Hermione’s vision whited out and the world exploded around her. Breathing was the only thing that she could do with any sort of aplomb. Eventually she rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes. Cormac smiled flashing bright, white teeth at her. There was an infinitely tender look in his eyes as he brushed a lock of hair off of her forehead.   
  
“Cormac,” she sighed.   
  
His smile grew impossibly brighter. “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing you say my name like that.”  
  
He leaned down and nuzzled her neck. Hermione giggled at the feel of his stubble brushing against her sensitive skin. Her giggles shifted to a gasp when Cormac suckled on the tip of one pointed ear.   
  
“Oooh,” she moaned and moved against him.   
  
“Don’t think I’ll ever get sick of that, either,” he murmured against the shell of her ear.   
  
“Cormac McLaggen,” she tried to say sternly as his fingers wandered south. “Stop that! Cormac do you have some kind of weird ear fetish?” She demanded.  
  
He pulled back and looked at her with heated eyes. “Not exactly. I have more of a Hermione Granger fetish,” he informed her. His eyes darkened. “Love hearing you make those noises. Love being the one that causes them.”  
  
“Oh!” She blushed and then smiled at him. “Well… that’s all right then.”  
  
Cormac shifted so that he could pay attention to her collarbone.   
  
“Erm, Cormac?” She asked in an embarrassed voice.   
  
He pulled back with a worried frown. “What? Did I hurt you?”   
  
“No,” she reassured him quickly. A light blush settled over her cheeks. “Um, do the other one?”  
  
Cormac grinned at her. “My pleasure,” he rumbled at her.

**Author's Note:**

> I believe that this was only ever posted to the Hermione Smut livejournal community.


End file.
